The Stone Demon (30 page)

As it was, Xan leaned into his father, helping him to sit down so that his leg could be tended to. Amazingly, Xan’s only injury was to his left arm. He’d broken it when a Strix had knocked him to the ground. Fey healers were already setting the bone and tying a sling made of an iridescent gossamer material around his neck.

Donna approached him. “Can’t they just fix it with magic?”

Xan smiled. He looked tired. Older. “They wanted to, but I’d rather they saved their mojo for the people who really need it.”

“I have to tell you something,” she said. There were so many things to say, but this was the one that could hurt him the most. “It’s about Maker.”

How was she going to tell him? How could she say that his dream of wings was gone now that Maker had died? Well, Maker’s body hadn’t been found in the wreckage, and some of the alchemists were trying to tell Donna that it had probably burned up in the dragon’s fire. This time, however, she wasn’t buying it. All the other bodies had been recovered, so why not his? What exactly was it that Maker had said to her before she woke the dragon?
Something about how he was looking forward to going home …

And the dragon itself—the dragon who had already melted back beneath the ground, back into its ley line—had known who Maker was, which made no sense at all.

She swallowed as Xan touched her face, surprising her. He wiped away some of the dried tears and ash smeared on her cheeks. “I know about Maker. It’s okay. This isn’t about me anymore. Maker’s gone and … maybe that’s the way it was meant to be.”

“But what about your wings?” Tears shimmered in Donna’s eyes, blurring her vision.

His smile was gentle. “What about them? It would have taken dozens of operations. It was never going to happen overnight, you know? And Donna … ” His smile widened. “I’ve been up there, now. The prototype worked and I flew.”

Donna swallowed past the huge lump in her throat. “You were magnificent.”

He returned her smile, joy radiating from him like the slowly rising sun. “I was, wasn’t I?”

They held each other for a long time, then Nav wandered over and told them to get a room. Donna blushed and hugged him, too. And then the two guys shook hands and Xan introduced Navin to his father.

It was a strange thing to witness, but it was also pretty awesome.

Later, she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her mother, surveying the wreckage. Donna remembered how she’d thought that some parts of the Otherworld landscape looked bleak, but that was before seeing the after-effects of a battle.

Rachel was clearly drained, her face was almost black with smoke and ash, but she was all in one piece. That was the main thing. Donna took one look at her mother’s expression and knew what was coming.

She asked the question anyway, because she had to. “Where’s Aunt Paige?”

Rachel reached out to Donna, trying to draw her into an embrace.

Donna held up her hands, warding her off. “No. Not her as well.”

“I’m sorry, darling. So sorry.” Her mother’s face crumbled, and Donna felt strangely shocked to see her cry for her sister-in-law. The woman who had betrayed her more than once. Patrick’s sister—and Simon’s puppet.

And that was it, wasn’t it?
Donna thought. They’d all been puppets. Aunt Paige with Simon. Quentin with Simon, too. The wood elves with the faeries. Even Isolde, dancing to Demian’s tune. Everybody had had a master. She took a shuddering breath and finally allowed her mother to hold her. Rachel stroked her hair away from her face, kissed her forehead.

Donna looked up into her mom’s eyes—soft gray eyes so like her own. “How did it happen?”

Rachel shook her head. “Does it matter right now?”

“I need to know.”

“She was running from demon shadows. There were so many of them. Quentin was the closest. He tried to help, but there were just too many … ” Her voice trailed off.

Donna swallowed. What a terrible end. Nobody deserved that.
Nobody
. She had loved Paige very much at one time, even though it had all gone so wrong toward the end. Now there would be no opportunity to mend bridges with her aunt. No second chances.

No goodbyes.

Her mother drew back, holding Donna at arm’s length and examining her for a long moment. “How does it feel?”

Donna frowned. “About Aunt Paige?”

“No, of course not.” Rachel shook her head. “I meant … how does it feel not having the first matter inside you anymore? Do you feel different?”

“Not really.” Donna checked on that place in her chest, the place she focused on when trying to access her powers. It was empty. But not in a bad way. It felt okay.

“I feel fine,” she said. And she did, at least physically. “How’s Quentin holding up?”

Her mother smiled. “Very well, all things considered. He’s incredible.”

“Oh!” Donna’s eyes widened. Everything had been so overwhelming that she’d almost forgotten about Quentin’s unpleasant other half. “What happened to Simon? I haven’t seen him. Did … did something happen to him, too?”

It wasn’t that she cared. She just needed to know where she stood, now that things had settled down enough to actually
think
. Now that her “pet dragon”—as Navin seemed fond of calling it—was back where it belonged, safely sleeping until someone else with the first matter in their soul died and came back to life, created the Philosopher’s Stone, and then called it up to fight a war. (“That’ll be next week, then,” Nav had said with a grin.)

“Mom?” Donna prodded. “What about Simon?”

Rachel sighed, an unreadable expression on her face. “He died saving Quentin’s life.”

Ding-dong
,
the Magus is dead
. She felt surprisingly calm. “At least he did something good. At the end, I mean.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” her mother agreed.

Donna realized that the expression on Rachel’s face was relief. She was
relieved
that Simon Gaunt was dead.

But Donna didn’t feel anything about it, not really. It registered, vaguely, somewhere at the very back of her mind, that at least her bargain with Queen Isolde had been fulfilled. Indirectly. Apart from that, she could only think of Maker and Aunt Paige. The Magus didn’t deserve her sympathy, though perhaps she should spare a thought for Quentin’s loss …

Nope. Donna shook her head. She couldn’t even do that. She honestly tried, but there was nothing left in her to give. No compassion for anything concerning Simon Gaunt’s life or death. He had lived long past his allotted time on this planet, anyway, and at what cost to so many others?

“The thing is,” Rachel continued, her face twisting into something resembling guilt, “I’m glad he’s gone.”

Donna nodded. This wasn’t exactly news. “I know that, Mom. Me too.”

“But it’s not that simple. Simon and Quentin … they were linked by Simon’s magic. Without him, I honestly don’t know how much longer our Archmaster can survive. So, although I’m
glad
that Simon Gaunt can no longer influence the Order of the Dragon, I just wonder if that freedom comes with too high a price.”

Oh, Quentin
, Donna thought, immediately fighting a rush of guilt about her feelings. She remembered Demian’s conversation with Simon at the masquerade ball. So it was true—the Magus really had been keeping Quentin alive. Or, at the very least, keeping illness at bay. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Does that mean that Quentin will die?”
Yet another death
, she thought. Another part of her childhood drifting away.

“We all die, sweetheart,” her mother replied.

Donna looked up sharply, remembering her dream. “That’s the secret of life, right?”

Rachel gave her an odd look. “Well, yes. But I don’t think we need to worry immediately. Quentin is strong. Stronger than Simon gave him credit for, I think.”

Her mother drifted away, and the alchemists and the fey worked together to clear the bodies from the charred remains of the Ironwood. If the sight weren’t so grim, it might have been incredible to think of the joint effort between two races historically at war with one another. Aliette was commanding her small band of wood elves, and they ran around like ants lugging debris. Once, her eyes met Donna’s through the smoke, and she nodded. Her face was expressionless.

Donna turned away and watched the sun rise higher on the horizon. She had questioned, more than once in the past few days, whether she would ever see that beautiful sight again. Now she knew the answer. She felt sure she would find out more answers in the coming days, but right now she was just happy to know that she was alive—and that the world would survive.

At least for a little longer.

Navin came to stand beside her. “What are you doing, Underwood? Watching the sunrise and dreaming of Xan?”

She’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard him approach. “Hey, you,” she said.

“That’s what you’re thinking about? ‘Hey, you’? That’s a new one.”

Donna smiled softly. “I was just thinking about how it’s all turned out.”

“Yeah,” Navin said. He looked at the blackened earth and the blasted trees. Fire and death still lingered in the air. “It turned out pretty crazy.”

Donna nodded, glad he wasn’t celebrating victory. What was there to celebrate? Demian’s forces had been destroyed, or at least dramatically reduced. But the Demon King himself had survived.

We shut him away again
, Donna reminded herself.
He’s not getting out any time soon
. She shivered as an inky shadow passed across the sky. Just a crow. Not a demon.

Navin put his arm around her. “You gonna be okay, Don?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned against him and watched the sky. “But I’m looking forward to finding out.”

Epilogue

S
itting on the roof terrace of the Grayson townhouse was both familiar and strange. It seemed so long since Donna had first met Xan, and yet it was only three months ago.

It felt like a lifetime.

Today, with the winter-bright sun peeking out from behind the clouds at regular intervals, Donna was starting to feel human again. It even looked like spring might come early this year.

Xan sat across from her, smiling. “I have the strangest feeling that we’ve been here before.”

“Déjà vu? Really?” She smiled in return. “That’s cool.”

“You don’t find this …
familiar
?” He raised an eyebrow and his green eyes sparkled.

She laughed. “Maybe you dreamed it.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe I did.”

Donna leaned back against the wall and waited to feel the sun on her face. She smiled to herself, wondering about the future. Wondering about the choices that lay ahead of her. It was okay not to know what came next—it was a gift. Freedom didn’t come without a price, and the price of her freedom hadn’t come cheap. She intended to make the most of it. Honor the memory of those who had fallen. Make the most of her life, and do the best she could to always keep looking
forward
.

Starting with traveling, just like she’d always wanted.

It was too late to submit college applications this year anyway, which worked out fine because it was giving her a whole extra year to herself. A year to see what was out there, beyond the boundaries of the alchemists. Rachel Underwood’s first act as the new Archmaster had been to give Donna her blessing for any and all plans—even those that didn’t include alchemy. Quentin also gave his full approval for this course of action. The only people not happy with this decision were some of the older alchemists, especially from the Order of the Rose. Now that Quentin had officially handed over his title to Rachel, she had to complete a million tests in record time to keep the Council off her back, and the Rose alchemists were the ones overseeing that process.

Perhaps Donna would pay them a visit in Prague, just to keep them on their toes. She grinned, imagining the fuss that would cause.

Navin had deferred his own admission to college, much to Dr. Sharma’s horror, and would be traveling with Donna during the summer and perhaps beyond. This made her happier than she could ever have imagined being. It was another gift from the Universe—that was how she chose to see it.

Maybe even a gift from a dragon.

Demian had made a mistake when he’d set the deadline for getting the Philosopher’s Stone on Imbolc. Donna had looked up the holiday in one of Quentin’s many books—alchemists were never short of books, that was for sure—and discovered that “Imbolc” meant “in the belly.” Traditionally, it meant the time of year when life begins to stir in the belly of the earth. A time of new beginnings … the spark of life …
possibility
whispering in the cold air. Yes, frost might still lie on the ground, snow can still fall, but spring has its first glimmerings. Maybe it’s not quite knocking at the door, but it’s very definitely on the horizon. When the deepest day of winter passes, a time of cleansing begins.

Imbolc was the time of the dragon, and the dragon had awakened. The Demon King hadn’t anticipated that. Perhaps he wasn’t aware, when he’d chosen his “impossible” deadline, that a power even older than his own slept beneath the Ironwood.